


White Flag

by Liathwen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Post Reichenbach, brief mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/pseuds/Liathwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tells Molly that he loves her but then leaves without a farewell to dismantle Moriarty's network. How will she react when he returns almost 3 years later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fanfic so I'm horribly sorry if it is terrible. Also, it is not beta'ed or brit picked because I don't really know anyone to fill either of those positions so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> The song it is based on is called White Flag by Dido.
> 
> Thanks to LadySolitare83 who planted the idea for this in my head when she mentioned this song in the comments for her fic, Through Distance and Time, I'll Be Waiting.
> 
> Obviously, I don't own the song or the show. I'm just playing in the sandbox.

**I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,**

**Or tell you that.**

**But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it where's the sense in that?**

**I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder**

**Or return to where we were**

 

Molly let out the breath she had figuratively been holding for almost 3 years. She stared at the telly with a mixture of numb shock and overwhelming joy. Sherlock Holmes was all over the news. His return from the dead and proven innocence would be the talk of the town for months, Molly knew. She was elated that he had been successful in his mission to bring down Moriarty’s criminal network but behind the joy, there was also fear and doubt. She sighed and turned the telly off, remembering the circumstances that caused the mixture of emotions she felt.

Sherlock came to Molly in his hour of greatest need and she did not disappoint. He told her that she counted and he had always trusted her. She thought at the time that no words could ever make her happier than those. Biting her lip and stilling her nervous hands, she listened intently to his plan and her vital role in it, only interrupting to clarify points he hurried through. They could not afford any mistakes. When the time came to execute the intricate plot, she carried her part off without a hitch.

Sherlock Holmes survived. James Moriarty died on the roof of St. Bart's hospital.

Molly Hooper performed both autopsies.

Late that night, she supported an injured but breathing Sherlock as the climbed the steps to her flat. He would be hiding there until his wounds were healed and it was safe for him to begin dismantling the vast criminal network created by the now deceased Moriarty. Sherlock fell onto her couch, breathing heavily. The stress of the day, coupled with his injuries and the worry he felt for his friends, was finally beginning to affect him. All day he had affected an air of detachment from the proceedings. He knew that if he broke his cold demeanor, the heart he claimed he didn’t have would break. In one day he lost everything. Friends, reputation, life as he knew it.

He glanced at Molly, who had collapsed into a chair opposite from him.

_Well maybe not everything. I still have Molly. Faithful Molly, who never questioned me._

He knew of her fondness for him. Really, it was rather obvious. He hadn’t however, realized that it was more than a schoolgirl crush until he had gone to her for help when he couldn’t trust anyone else. When she asked what he needed, he understood that what he had written off as a temporary infatuation was, in fact, an unconditional love. He had pushed that realization aside at that moment, he had too much to think about to let sentiment cloud him right then. Now, as he studied her exhausted figure from his spot on her couch, he thought about how he felt regarding her. Now that he knew her love was real, he allowed himself to study where she fit into his life. Startlingly, he couldn’t place her. She was far more than an acquaintance after all she had done for him, not only with his death, but in the long time he had known her. She always welcomed him into the lab and morgue with open arms figuratively. She cleaned up his messes, disregarded his bluntness, filed paperwork for the body parts he “borrowed,” and brought him coffee whenever he was there for any significant amount of time. He found her helpful with his experiments on many occasions though he rarely acknowledged that fact. He pursed his lips, trying to remember a time when he had thanked her for her help and came up with a blank.

_Hmm, I really have been a bit of an arse where she is concerned. But why? I acknowledge when others are helpful most of the time, albeit with a backhanded compliment usually. Why not Molly? She is more helpful than all the others, save John, combined._

As he mused, she heaved a sigh and stood, walking into her tiny kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Tea?”

He hummed in the affirmative and closed his eyes, still trying to classify her. He insulted her more than most people as well, he realized. Remarks on her body, relationships and general self were commonplace. His eyes flew open as his brain made the connection he had overlooked for years.

_I make remarks about her because I notice things about her that I don’t care to notice in others, ergo, she is more important to me than others. Oh god, I’m in love with her._

His breath left this body with a whoosh as he came down to the only possible explanation and he panicked.

_I can’t be in love. Sentiment is a disadvantage. I can’t be like all those ordinary people and actually feel that for another person. Can I?_

He sat bolt upright, wincing with pain and stared at the slight girl as she reentered the room bearing two cups of steaming hot tea. She handed one to him and seated herself across from him again, quietly sipping on her cup. Sherlock watched her carefully and as she stifled a yawn he discovered that not only did he feel for her, but he was alright with that. In fact, he wanted to tell her so.

So he did.

“Molly, I need you to know something.”

Molly started a bit when she heard his deep voice cutting through her thoughts. She cleared her throat before answering him. “Of course, Sherlock, what is it?” She turned her attention to him and was somewhat disconcerted to see that he looked rather nervous. Molly inwardly panicked a bit, thinking he was about to tell her something horrible.

Sherlock swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, and then the words rushed out. “Molly Hooper, I think that I love you.”

Silence.

He cracked open one eye to find her staring at him in shock, her jaw practically on the floor.

_Oh great, she probably thinks I’m in shock from today’s events or that I’ve gone insane or something equally disturbing._

He rushed to explain himself. “I have been thinking a lot about why I have treated you the way I have in the past and I fear that my inability to express sentiment manifested itself in rude remarks regarding your figure, intelligence and relationships.” He licked lips, and then continued. “I can admit that at times I have trouble expressing myself in a constructive manner. I apologize for that but let me assure you that I do feel for you.”

Molly continued to stare at Sherlock without replying for a moment before setting down her tea on the table and clearing her throat yet again. Perhaps as a result of the stress of the day, perhaps as the manifestation of some inward courage that she didn’t know she possessed, Molly stood and moved closer to Sherlock, looking down at him. She searched his face for a long moment and found only sincerity there. She knew what he looked like when he was only saying something to get what he wanted and the expression on his face was far from that.

“Sherlock, you know I love you. I always have.”

With that, he let out a sigh of relief and stood quickly and wrapped his arms around her. Sherlock held her close, breathing in her scent and closed his eyes. She smelled like chemicals and lemon soap and female. He felt part of his brain light up with desire and he pulled her into a crushing kiss. She eagerly responded and moaned as his tongue moved over her lower lip, asking permission. PERMISSION GRANTED.

After that, there were no words, only moans and sighs of contentment and fulfillment as they explored each other’s bodies in her bed.

 

**I will go down with this ship**

**And I won't put my hands up and surrender**

**There will be no white flag above my door**

**I'm in love and always will be**

 

A week passed and Sherlock’s injuries were healed enough that he could leave to begin the long process of taking down the network of evil Moriarty had created. Sherlock stood in the doorway to Molly’s bedroom, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He was up early and she still slept. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Mycroft stating that the car had arrived to take him away. Sherlock hesitated. He hated to leave without a goodbye but part of him feared that if he saw Molly cry that he would not have the strength to leave her side and do what needed to be down. So he turned and left without a backward glance.

Molly awoke to an empty flat. She cried for days.

Now, as she watched the news of his return, she could only feel pain. He was back but he hadn’t come to her. She came to the conclusion that he wanted to forget what had happened between them. While it broke her heart, she still loved him with every fiber of her being and resolved that if he wanted to forget it then she would not stand in the way of that. She decided to let everything return to the way it was before he said those three little words. It might kill her, but she would give him what he wanted.

 

**I know I left too much mess and destruction to come back again**

**And I caused nothing but trouble**

**I understand if you can't talk to me again**

**And if you live by the rules of "it's over" then I'm sure that that makes sense**

 

Sherlock paced back and forth in the sitting room of 221b Baker Street. Mycroft had kept up his rent, citing sentimental reasons, and he was grateful for the convenience of having a home to return to after his resurrection.

John had long since moved out, of course. His engagement to Mary Morstan was not news to Sherlock. Mycroft had kept him well informed on the state of his closest friends. Sherlock was pleased to find that Mary was a cut above John’s former girlfriends, both in intelligence and ability to handle Sherlock’s blunt deductions. Secretly, Sherlock decided that he quite liked Miss Morstan. Especially when she whole heartedly condoned John’s resuming his partnership with Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson screamed when she saw Sherlock but quickly calmed down and began trying to feed him biscuits, saying that he was too thin and needed to take better care of himself. She shook her head when she realized that Mycroft had kept up the rent, not for sentimental reasons, but because he knew that Sherlock would eventually come back. She promised to give him a stern talking to the next time she saw him. Sherlock laughed and made her promise not to do it unless he was there to witness.

Lestrade had reacted to the sudden appearance of Sherlock with a mixture of shock and disbelief. But after being convinced that Sherlock was indeed alive and back for good, he had handed several file folders to Sherlock and gruffly told him to get to work on them. After which, he pulled the startled detective into a crushing hug then told him to get out of his office, that he had work to do. Sherlock grinned and headed out of the building feeling on top of the world.

His good mood was crushed quickly when he realized that cases meant having to go to Bart's. He didn’t know how Molly would react to seeing him after so long and after he left without saying goodbye. He knew from Mycroft that she had not dated in his absence but a dark part of him feared that it wasn’t because she was waiting for him, but because he had broken her. Sherlock ran his hands through his curls in agitation as he paced. He knew that he loved her and always would but could she forgive him? His departure without any notice had certainly hurt her. He was terrified that she would no longer care for him, that she would decide he wasn’t worth the heartache she had no doubt experienced while he was gone.

She was constantly on his mind the time he was away. Whenever he found himself alone in one of the rundown flats he had holed up in, he comforted himself with thoughts of her. Molly Hooper was everywhere in his mind palace now, in every corner. Her scent, her taste, her voice. Every detail was brought forth to be examined on those cold, lonely nights. He cursed himself for not realizing sooner what she really meant to him and swore to himself that if she still wanted him when he returned that he would spend the rest of their lives making up for his stupidity.

The door slammed and he heard John’s hurried footsteps climbing the stairs. The blonde man entered, breathing heavily and glanced at the tall detective with a worried expression.

“What happened? You said it was urgent.”

Sherlock turned to face to face his friend, agitation written on his face.

“I am in love with Molly and I don’t know if she still wants me.”

Pure shock was the only way to describe the doctor’s face as he processed Sherlock’s statement.

“Molly, as in Molly Hooper, the girl from the morgue? That Molly?”

“Yes of course, what other Molly is there?” Sherlock snapped, rubbing his temples. “She helped me survive the fall, I stayed at her flat, we were intimate, and then I left without saying goodbye. Not good?” he gave an imploring look to John, who sighed.

“A bit not good, yeah.”

Sherlock nodded. “I thought not. Now, how do I fix this?”

John groaned. Sherlock wasn’t even back a full day and already he was in a mess. He pondered the situation. “Well I suppose you could start by going to talk to her.”

Sherlock nodded again and hesitantly asked, “Come with me?”

John grinned and replied, “Of course, you big git, you think I would miss this?”

 

**And when we meet**

**Which I'm sure we will**

**All that was there**

**Will be there still**

**I'll let it pass**

**And hold my tongue**

**And you will think That I've moved on....**

 

Sherlock hesitated outside the morgue, looking in through the window. He could see her on the inside, finishing up what appeared to be her final autopsy of the day. His hands shook and he glanced down at them, willing them to be steady. He cast a sidelong look at John, who smiled encouragingly and motioned for him to go in. Sherlock took a deep breath and pushed the doors open and strode into the quiet morgue. John waited outside.

Molly looked up at the sound of the morgue doors opening and stifled a shriek when she saw Sherlock striding in like he never left. She quickly stripped off her gloves and moved to the sink to scrub down. Sherlock watched her silently and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. It was unlike him to stay silent for so long. She sighed inwardly, thinking that he was worried that she would react with too much emotion at the sight of him. Molly braced herself and turned to stare at the detective. “So you are back. What do you need?” Sherlock winced, mistaking her careful choice of words for anger. He despaired.

_She doesn’t love me anymore. I hurt her too badly this time. She’ll never forgive me. I made a mistake in coming here._

He abruptly panicked and ran out of the morgue doors, leaving behind a puzzled Molly and John.

John poked his head into the morgue and smiled at the shocked Molly.

“Umm, Molly? What happened?”

Molly stared at him blankly. “I don’t know. I said, so you’re back, asked what he needed and then he bolted.”

John chuckled. “He thinks you are angry with him and won’t want him because he left without saying goodbye,” he explained to the bewildered pathologist. “Might I suggest you go after him so you can actually talk about it?”

Molly nodded silently and took off running down the hall. She hailed a cab and hurriedly directed the cabbie to Baker Street then fidgeted the whole ride there. When she arrived, she paid then jumped out and rang the doorbell insistently.

Mrs. Hudson answered and smiled at the anxious girl. “Go on up, dear, you’ve beaten him here.”

Sherlock entered the silent flat in despair. He trudged up the steps, pulling off his signature coat and scarf before opening the door. His eyes on the ground, he failed to notice the petite pathologist in his chair at first. When he does see her, his breath leaves him.

Sherlock crossed the room in a daze and Molly stood to meet him. He stared at her for a long moment before lunging to embrace her. Tears run down both of their faces and they know that this is forever. This is love.

 

 

**I will go down with this ship**

**And I won't put my hands up and surrender**

**There will be no white flag above my door**

**I'm in love and always will be**


End file.
